


Who watches the watcher

by lola381pce



Series: Welcome to my nightmare [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e07 Jaynestown, Fear, Feels, Firefly References, Gen, Hugs, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Swearing, Violent attack, attempted strangulation, suggestion of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1657415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milk runs and cake walks could still turn out to be cluster fucks even with practiced field agents but anything that causes S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most experienced and normally unflappable senior agent to have nightmares must be a shit-hitting-fan kind of bad day even by Phil Coulson's standards. Fortunately his S.H.I.E.L.D. family are there to take care of him and help him though the worst of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical - Natasha

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final part of the ‘Welcome to my nightmare’ series. The title comes from a Star Trek: The Next Generation episode ‘Who watches the watchers’ (S3E4) which I thought it worked well as a heading for Phil’s nightmares and how the others comfort him when he needs them.
> 
> I'll update tags and characters as I go along but so far there's nothing too serious. If you think otherwise let me know and I'll update as soon as I'm made aware.
> 
> The characters belong to Marvel, the rest is me being me. As always thanks for reading and please feel free to leave comments - it helps to know what you think :)

His injuries weren’t life threatening; he’d had worse, much worse but they did mean he’d have to spend time in S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical for observation, especially for the concussion. Fortunately Phil’s body armour had taken the worst of the blast leaving him with bruising and a couple of cracked ribs. However shrapnel has a way of finding exposed areas and in addition to the lacerations and contusions on his face and arms he had a nasty wound just above his hip and another between his collar bone and shoulder where the Kevlar body armour didn’t quite reach. Plus his suit jacket had been shredded which he’d probably be annoyed about the most.

Clint was absent from the room because he was angry and pissed off. He hadn’t been there to protect his handler and seeing him lying in the bed, his face pale against the white sheets made him want to hit something or more accurately someone. Instead, after Natasha had made him swear not to seek out the agent who’d caused Phil to be injured, at least not until she was with him – that called for team retribution, he headed to the shooting range where he would spend time nocking, aiming and releasing arrows in one fluid movement until the steady rhythm calmed him. That point however, was a long way off.  

Natasha stayed. She would stand vigil over Phil tonight until they could take him home in the morning. She too was angry but what happened had happened and she would keep her rage in check…for now.

It was supposed to have been a milk run, a training exercise for a team of rookies but milk runs and cake walks could turn out to be cluster fucks even with practiced field agents and this one had been a doozie. Thanks to one recruit, who thought he knew better than S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most experienced senior agent, the whole team had been endangered and as a result Phil had put himself in harm’s way to save them.  It was nothing he hadn’t done a hundred times before but usually it had been because of bad intel and not because of some hero wannabe’s attempt at making a name for himself. Well he’d done that alright.

When it was time to teach the rookie the error of his ways, maybe she’d use Zoe’s line from ‘Serenity’ before she wiped the floor with him – “Do you know what the definition of a hero is? Someone who gets other people killed. You can look it up later”.

Natasha smiled grimly and pulled the chair over to Phil’s bed. She lifted his hand stroking the palm with her thumb talking to his sleeping form until she fell finally asleep beside him. 

***

Natasha woke immediately when the monitoring machines’ alarms went off. Phil was sitting bolt upright his heart racing; his chest heaving with rapid and shallow breaths; his eye wild and unfocussed.  He was having a nightmare and going by the sweat dripping from his face and soaking through his medical gown, it was a bad one. She reached out and took his hand once again gently rubbing the palm with her thumb. 

“Phil?” No response.  “Coulson?” Again there was no response.  “Agent Coulson!”

Startled, he tried to concentrate on her face.  She spoke calmly and softly an echo of Phil’s own voice when faced with similar situations.

“Eyes on me, Phil. Breathe slowly. That’s it, that’s good. Focus on me.”

The panic was gradually beginning to subside and his breathing was slowing down becoming more regular.

“You’re in S.H.I.E.L.D. medical. You’re safe now.  Do you understand?”

Phil nodded. “The team?”

“They’re all fine. You got them all out safely.”

“Henderson?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes; the rookie. “He’s unharmed…for now,” she replied ominously. “Let the medical team look at you.”

Natasha let go of his hand and stepped back allowing the team, who had entered as she was calming Phil, to get access to him.  They checked data from the pulse oximeter and the cardiac monitor and made notes on Stark Medi-Pads.  She didn’t comment until one of the doctors pulled a syringe and began to fill it. She moved forward and clamped her hand on the doctor’s forearm.

“What’s that?”

He frowned at her, “A sedative.”

She looked across at Phil who shook his head. “No.”

“But he needs to stay calm. He’ll pull his stitches.”

“Did you even bother to read his file? Get out.”

The team froze. Like Clint and Natasha, Phil did not react well to being sedated and notes stating as much had been added to each of their files. Sedatives were to be used only in extreme circumstances and this did not qualify. She continued to stare at the doctor until he dropped his eyes and left the room followed by the rest of the medical team their gazes averted.

She resumed her post by Phil’s bed and stroked his cheek.

“Sleep, Phil. I’ll watch over you.”

He closed his eyes and nodded squeezing her hand in thanks. He didn’t let go of it again even when fell asleep; she wouldn’t have let him anyway.


	2. The Landing Deck - Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing Phil like this, Clint was suddenly terrified. He was uncertain how to continue but he knew he couldn’t leave him there, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For PeeDeeTee, because you share my love of Phil in the rain.

“Agent Barton, sir.”

Clint was awake immediately. He sat upright in the bed his P30 in his hand with a round in the chamber. The lights came up slowly to a dimmed setting and he relaxed. He was in the Tower and J.A.R.V.I.S. had woken him. The relaxed state past almost as quickly as it arrived; _J.A.R.V.I.S. had woken him_.

“What’s up, J?” he asked sliding his hand over his face disarming his handgun.

“I thought you would want to know that Agent Coulson has had a nightmare. It was quite severe, sir.”

“Fuck!” Clint slid out the bed and pulled on a t-shirt and sweatpants.

“He’s on the landing deck, Agent Barton. I’d advise you to take some towels.”

“Still raining?” he asked from the en-suite as he grabbed a handful of the suggested linens.

“Still raining,” the AI confirmed.

“Thanks, J. I owe you.”

“Not at all, sir.”  J.A.R.V.I.S. paused and in a very human way stated, “I care about him too.”

The archer said nothing, simply nodded and accepted the statement for what it was. He figured there was a lot of weird shit in the world and a computer system with feelings was one of the better things. He dropped the towels on the bed and removed a change of clothes from his cupboard then scooped everything up in his arms heading for the door.

Clint made his way to the landing deck laying the pile of towels and clothing down on the back of the couch as he past by. The rain was coming down in sheets but there he was, just standing in the rain barely noticing the water as it soaked through his t-shirt and sleep pants making them cling to his body. His hair was flattened against his head and the drops ran down his the contours of his face before falling from his nose and chin joining the puddles surrounding his bare feet.

Seeing Phil like this, Clint was suddenly terrified. He was uncertain how to continue but he knew he couldn’t leave him there, alone. Slowly he walked towards him, becoming drenched himself. Undeterred he reached his handler, his normally calm unruffled handler who was always in control, always self-confident and stood a few steps behind him afraid to get too close, afraid to touch him.

“Boss?” Clint’s voice was quiet and gentle even though his heart was pounding in his chest. Phil didn’t move, didn’t even seem to register his presence. He stepped closer and said his name this time; still there was nothing. The fear was building inside him. He was so scared that Phil was finally gone; that his mind could no longer cope with everything it had been through. He reached out and touched his fingers to Phil’s arm. It was ice cold. God, how long had he been out here? With a heavy heart he noted that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent still hadn’t moved. Fuck!

He closed the gap until there was nothing left between them and his chest, with his own t-shirt clinging to him, was pressed against Phil’s back. Carefully he wrapped his right arm round Phil’s waist and his left across his chest gently holding him leaning his cheek against Phil’s shoulder. He didn’t resist, didn’t pull way, just remained there unblinking, immobile. Clint’s heart clenched.

“Talk to me, Boss.” Clint tried to make his voice sound calm, even though he was freaking out inside. For an eternity there was nothing but the sound of the rain splashing against the deck. Then Phil began to speak softly, his voice fighting to be heard against the rain.

“My father used to tell me that a rainstorm purifies, everything bad is washed away.” He looked down at his hands sadly. “It’s not true though. My hands will always be covered in blood. I’ve killed too many times; I’ve lost too many people. Some nights I hear them screaming in my head. Tonight their families were staring at me by the graveside, telling me it was my fault; there must have been something more I could have done to keep them safe.” His voice was broken.

Clint shut his eyes tightly tears leaking from the corners mixing with the rain. He tightened his grip around his handler. Fuck! This was wrong, so fucking wrong. It should be Phil holding him. Phil was the strong one, the composed one, the one who made everything better. Not him, not Clint.

He wanted to tell him that everything would be okay. To insist he’d done nothing wrong. He’d only killed in the line of duty or to protect an innocent. For every agent he lost, he’d saved a hundred more. But they were all platitudes and Phil did not need trite statements right now. So he held him. He kept his arms round him until slowly he felt Phil’s body begin to shiver, his hand reaching up to Clint’s forearm holding it tight almost bruising his skin.

“Come with me,” he said tugging him gently. “Come back inside with me.”

Phil allowed himself to be led back into the penthouse. Clint stopped him just inside the doorway and collected the towels from the couch. He looked at his handler’s face and decided he was still too far gone to help himself right now so he took over like Phil would have done if the roles had been reversed.

“I’m going to get you out of these wet things, okay?”

Phil looked at him blankly then nodded still shivering. Clint took the bottom of the t-shirt in his fingers and carefully peeled it from Phil’s skin. The material was soaked through making it an arduous task but between the two of them they managed to remove it from his body. Clint threw it behind them on the floor where it landed with a wet splat.

Clint picked up a towel and carefully began to dry Phil’s hair and face, moving slowly down his neck and shoulders to his chest and stomach. He dried Phil’s arms then raised them above his head and towel dried his sides before pushing his arms back down again. He turned the compliant agent round and rubbed the towel over his shoulders and back making sure everything was dry. Although he was being gentle, Clint applied enough force to begin to warm Phil’s skin because, Christ, he was freezing.

And now the sleep pants. Clint closed his eyes not caring to think of the number of times this particular fantasy had played out in his head. Not the time, not the place. Strangely though, he didn’t need to tell himself that as his concern for his handler out-weighed any sexual urges. Still, how the fuck was he going to do this? He moved behind Phil (better a face of ass than cock at this juncture) and leaning against him, unfastened the string pulling the wet fabric over his waist and hips, down this thighs, knees and calves to his ankles where he helped Phil step out of them. He paused with the towel in his hands not quite sure how to begin.

“Let me,” whispered Phil taking it from him. Half miserable and half delighted the choice had been removed from him, Clint pulled off his own wet clothes, dropping them beside Phil’s and dried himself off as Phil did the same. Ah fuck! One change of clothes! Duh! He wrapped the towel round his waist and took the damp one from Phil dropping it on top of the wet clothing and made as though to dress him.

“I can do it,” and Phil pulled the t-shirt over his head and arms feeling better for the warmth it provided even though it was a size or so too big. Clint handed him the sweatpants and Phil pulled those on too. Slowly he was coming back.

“I’m sorry…”

“NO!” Clint barked, harsher than he’d intended making Phil flinch. Man he sucked at this. In a softer voice he continued. “You never need to apologise to me for this. Fuck! I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve been there for me.”

He moved towards the older man and rested his forehead against Phil’s cupping the back of his head, his hand holding him in place, grounding him. Phil raised his own hand to Clint’s forearm and rested it there.

“Thank you,” he whispered. "Thank you."


	3. The Bus - Melinda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May’s stomach lurched at the expression on his face; he was terrified. She froze and held her breath waiting (hoping?) for Coulson to register it was her.

Skye woke with a prickly feeling on the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. Her scalp felt as though it wanted to crawl from her head. What the fuck? She scrambled out of bed and opened the door of her sleep pod to find FitzSimmons standing at theirs, their hair mussed up from sleep and with what she guessed was the same freaked out look on their faces as she had on hers.

Agent May was already launching herself up the spiral staircase to Coulson’s office as a second blood-curdling cry echoed through the Bus. The three of them huddled together looking at each other with identical expressions of concern; it sounded as though Coulson’s soul was being ripped from his body and it was the most frightening thing any of them had ever heard.

May slammed the entry button to Coulson’s door and disappeared inside, however she was careful as she approached him. Like her, the senior agent was capable of lethal force by instinct if he felt threatened. She stood a few feet away from his bed and softly called his name. He sat bolt upright with his Glock drawn, a round already chambered pointing directly at May. As Coulson’s eyes slowly focussed on her, May’s stomach lurched at the expression on his face; he was terrified. She froze and held her breath waiting (hoping?) for Coulson to register it was her.

Although his gun hand was steady the rest of body was shaking but whether from adrenaline at being woken or fear from the dream itself, May wasn’t sure. His hair was plastered to his head and sweat ran from his forehead down the curves of his face before dripping onto his t-shirt. She knew he suffered from nightmares. Hell in their line of work they all had them from time to time but his were much worse since he came back; hardly surprising perhaps, hers had been worse since Bahrain. But she’d never seen him this tormented; he’d never pulled a gun on her before (at least not since the I.C.E.R.). She remembered the hurt, the disappointment in his face right before he shot her. May closed her eyes for a second pushing back the tears that threatened to spill over at the memory. She had to focus on him right now. He was all that mattered; he was _always_ all that mattered to her.

Coulson looked at her with narrowed eyes, she seemed so far away as though he was looking the wrong way through a set of binoculars; she sounded far away too, her voice muffled and tinny. Slowly his world began to come back to him, the line between dream and reality becoming less blurred, until clarity and sharpness suddenly flooded back almost overloading his senses.

“Mel?”

“Yes, Phil. It’s me.”

He lowered his sidearm making it safe before dropping it into his lap, appalled that he’d pulled his gun on her.

“Can I come closer?” He nodded before leaning forward putting his face in his hands rubbing his eyes and running them over his head through his hair making it stick up at odd angles. Under different circumstances it would have been endearing; at this moment it only made him look vulnerable. Again she had to fight to keep the tears from falling.

May crossed the room to his bed and climbed in behind him sliding her legs down the outside of his, wrapping her herself round him, enveloping him with her body.  He was burning up; his t-shirt was soaked through and the sheets were damp yet still she held him, whispering quietly to him, gently stroking his arms. His whole body was shaking now but she continued trying to calm him with her words and her touch.

Her persistence paid off as little by little the trembling slowed and finally ceased altogether. May leaned back against the headboard carefully taking Phil back with her, stopping when he resisted, continuing when he relaxed again, until his head was resting on her sternum. She kept one arm wrapped round his chest and stroked his forehead trailing her fingers through his hair. It was a soothing touch and his breathing began to deepen, his body settling against her.

“Will you stay?” he asked her quietly threading his fingers though those of her hand that held him, that grounded him.

She tenderly kissed the top of his head and told him in a soft voice, “For as long as you need me.”


	4. The Motor Home - Darcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy was occasionally troubled by dreams involving clowns who generally scared the shit out of her when she was awake never mind asleep but she figured in Phil’s job, the things that would cause him to have bad dreams would make clowns seem, well like…child’s play!

Darcy looked down at Phil who’d fallen asleep with his head on her lap during the second part of their ‘Firefly’ marathon (part one being interrupted by food, beer and a kinda hot make-out session). She’d seriously considered kicking Agent Asshole (yes, he was relegated to Agent Asshole again because _Hello,_ _he’d fallen asleep during a **‘Firefly’** marathon!_ ) out of the motor home there and then, but when he first arrived Darcy had noticed the shadows under his eyes and figured it must have been a rough few days so, feeling benevolent, she forgave him and let him sleep. Better to have him refreshed for what she had in mind for later.

She stroked his forehead and smiled at him, glad that he was here with her, sleeping beauty or otherwise. He frowned and murmured in his sleep clenching his hands into fists as his body twitched slightly. Darcy didn’t give it much consideration other than a random ‘chasing rabbits’ thought and went back to watching Shepherd Book finding River “fixing” his bible by cutting, pasting and marking up the pages.

Not long after Darcy had lol’d at the scene where River returns the Shepherd’s wrecked bible to him and she sees his white hair in a wild Einstein mop which makes her scream and run from his room, Phil’s murmuring got louder and the slight twitching increased to full-blown trembling. Darcy looked down at him again, the smile disappearing from her face as she realised something was wrong, very wrong. The crease of his brow deepened and his eyes were darting about under his eyelids. Damn!

She ran her fingers through his hair and was concerned at how damp it was. Fuck! When had that happened? She laid her hand on his chest and felt the heat radiating though his t-shirt. So much for chasing rabbits, he was having a nightmare which worried her. She was occasionally troubled by dreams involving clowns who generally scared the shit out of her when she was awake never mind asleep but she figured in Phil’s job, the things that would cause him to have bad dreams would make clowns seem, well like…child’s play!

She whispered his name and gently stroked his face with her fingers. It seemed to calm him slightly so she continued rubbing her thumb against his cheek and talking quietly to him. Just as she thought she had a handle on it, his breath caught for a few seconds then he let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a whimper curling himself up into a ball, shivering. What the fuck? Trying not to panic and knowing better than to try and wake him she remembered when she was a kid and had scary dreams; her aunt used to sing to her and she would either fall back into a peaceful sleep or she would wake up in her aunt’s arms and feel comforted. Not sure what else to do, but feeling self-conscious as hell, she began to sing to him.

_“Take my love, take my land_

_Take me where I cannot stand_

_I don’t care, I’m still free_

_You can’t take the sky from me._

 

_Take me out to the black_

_Tell them I ain’t coming back_

_Burn the land and boil the see_

_You can’t take the sky from me.”_

 

Darcy didn’t take her eyes off him as she sang, watching to see if there was any change to his sleep pattern. There did seem to be a slight difference – the shivering wasn’t quite as bad, his body looked like it might be less tense and his breathing became quieter, so she sang a little more.

 

_“Leave the men where they lay_

_They’ll never see another day_

_Lost my soul, lost my dream_

_You can’t take the sky from me._

_I feel the black reaching out_

_I hear its song without a doubt_

_I still hear and I still see_

_That you can’t take the sky from me.”_

 

Little by little she saw the crease in his forehead even out, his hands loosened from clenched fists and his body uncurled into a more relaxed position; she was encouraged by the signs of improvement and continued until she finished the song.

 

_“Lost my love, lost my land_

_Lost the place where I could stand_

_There’s no place where I can be_

_Since I found Serenity._

_And you can’t take the sky from me.”_

 

As she looked at him, Phil’s eyes slowly opened and he gazed up at her. She smiled at him and said softly, “Hey Agent iPod Thief. You had me worried there for a while. You okay?”

He looked exhausted but he returned her smile, “Did you seriously just sing me the ‘Firefly’ theme song?”

Fuck! She gave herself a mental face palm. Of course he’d think she was a total dork. She blushed and stammered, “I well…I…yeah.”

He propped himself up on his elbow and gently touched his hand to her face bringing her towards him to kiss her lightly on the lips. “Thank you. It was actually kind of comforting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other chapters have been kind of intense for Phil, so Darcy seemed the best person to deal with his nightmare in a successful but slightly lighter way.


	5. The Bus - Jemma and Skye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After unexpectedly meeting their CO at the foot of the spiral staircase leading to his office, it was Skye who recovered quickest out the three of them sobered by the expression on Coulson’s face, as though he’d seen a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Geeky_MikaBoo - who asked. 
> 
> "Well I was hoping (feel free to ignore me) to see Jemma as the next one. Maybe some tea being involved to sooth him, like she walks in with mugs for him and her. Or maybe her and Skye? Like they were already hanging out when they hear him and they go and comfort him together."
> 
> Your wish is my command, lovely. Hope it doesn't disappoint.

Coulson woke up suddenly sitting bolt upright in his bed, his chest heaving as his heart raced leaving him gasping for breath. The details of his nightmare were sharp in his mind as he remembered them. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his head on top waiting for his breathing to return to normal, glad that this time he hadn’t cried out waking everyone on the Bus. Tonight’s trip down memory lane, ladies and gentlemen, was finding Skye after she’d been shot by Quinn.

He rubbed his open palm over his eyes almost smelling and tasting the copper tang of her blood in the back of his throat and feeling its tackiness coating his hands as he held her, the steady flow pouring from the bullet wounds spreading over her, him and the floor. Fuck! He winced as the memory flooded his senses. He threw back the covers and stumbled out of bed to his desk where he stood, eyes closed, hunched over as if in pain. He was in pain but it wasn’t physical, not this time.

He moved round to the other side of his desk and opened the drawer where he kept his bottle of whisky. The bottle was there but the glasses weren’t; he’d taken them down to the galley to wash after he and May had shared some a few nights ago and had forgotten to bring them back. As much as he wanted to feel the burning sensation in his mouth and throat as the golden liquid trailed a path to his stomach he wasn’t yet at the stage where he would drink straight from the bottle. He still had some dignity left…just. He looked at his watch sitting on the desk, 02:47hrs. There would be no more sleep tonight. Fuck it! The galley it was. He might be able to drink himself back to sleep or at least to the point where he didn’t care; it wouldn’t be the first time. He didn't bother putting a t-shirt on, he'd be away for less than a minute so he padded down stairs wearing only his sweatpants.

He was at the foot of the spiral staircase when he registered voices coming from within the kitchen and getting closer. Jemma and Skye appeared carrying mugs of…well, tea probably. Involuntarily he took a step backwards and caught his heel on the last tread of the stairs which sent him backwards landing unceremoniously on his ass. Jemma squealed and Skye’s breath hitched neither of them expecting to see their C.O. but it was Skye who recovered quickest out the three of them sobered by the expression on Coulson’s face, as though he’d seen a ghost.

She knelt in front of him setting her mug down beside her and put her hand on his knee. “You okay AC?” she asked her voice and face full of concern.

He flinched as though he’d been struck and she pulled her hand back. Not her fault. Not her fault ran through his head. “I’m fine,” he replied the hoarseness of his voice and the grey pallor of his skin suggesting otherwise.

Jemma watched on, the worry evident in her expression. He’d obviously had a nightmare and going by his reaction to Skye and the way he was looking at her it must have involved the ex-hacker. She tried to keep her voice calm as she spoke. “Go through to the lounge both of you. I’ll fix you a cup of tea, sir.”

“I’m…” his replied dropped off as he continued to stare at Skye.

“Fine? I don’t think so. Go through. I’ll follow on in a minute.”

Skye nodded and, picking up her mug, she stood waiting for Coulson to do the same. After a few seconds he got up and they headed through to the seating area together with him trying not to be too obvious that he was doing his best not get too close to her. She sat down at the far end of the couch pulling her legs up beneath her aware he wanted to keep his distance, he at the other with neither of them speaking. He put his head in his hands and rubbed them over his face then through his hair making it stick up at odd angles. She smiled fondly at him and leaned over to put her mug on the table. He leapt up like a scalded cat backing away from her. This time she was pissed off at him as well as troubled for him. She stood up again and faced him determined to find out the cause of his reaction.

“AC what is it? What have I done?”

Absently, as though he wasn’t quite seeing correctly, he shook his head.

“Nothing, Skye. You’ve done nothing. I’m sorry. Tell Jemma I’m sorry, I’ve gone back to bed” and he turned away from her. She quickly closed the gap between them and put her hand gently on his upper arm; he froze at her touch but this time she didn’t pull away.

“Please,” she implored. “Tell me.”

For what seemed an eternity he said nothing then he dropped his head to his chest looking down at the floor and quietly told her what had been in his nightmare. He kept the details sufficiently vague so as not to upset her any more than necessary. As he spoke she moved closer to him resting her cheek just below the nape of his neck reaching down to take his hand in hers. He squeezed it gently but didn’t let it go.

Jemma stood with two mugs and witnessed the intimate moment between her friend and her boss but she didn’t attempt to leave lest she disturb them. As he finished talking he looked up and his eyes locked on hers. She made to back away but he held his free hand out to her her inviting her to join them knowing that she'd heard every word. She stood for a moment uncertain what to do then finally walked towards them. She placed the mugs on the table and took his hand moving close to him putting her head against his chest.

They stood like that the three of them not moving, not speaking. Their touch was comforting and Coulson could feel his body relax, the tension slowly seeping out of it. Regretfully, however reassuring it was, they knew they couldn’t remain like that and once more it was Skye who broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered softly against the skin between his shoulder blades. Normally it would have sparked a different sensation to the one he was experiencing right now and would likely have led to something more sexual but she didn’t mean it to be sensual and he didn’t take it that way. Although it did cross his mind how inappropriately he was dressed.

He squeezed her hand again. “No. Please don’t. Don’t apologise for something you didn’t cause.” He felt her nod against his back as she wrapped her arms around his waist brushing her fingers across Jemma as she did so. His hand closed over both of hers.

“Will you sleep now?” Jemma asked touching her friend’s arm reassuringly while her other hand rested on Coulson’s chest.

“No,” he told her honestly, holding her to him. “But you’ve brought me some peace, both of you. Thank you for that.”

They stood together for a few moments longer then as if by some invisible signal they pulled apart. He hugged Jemma then Skye, and giving them both a small smile he said goodnight and headed towards the stairs for probably a sleepless but less troubled night.


	6. The Landing Deck - Tony and Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson had no recollection of Stark and Pepper even coming into the communal area let alone why he had his hand clamped round Stark’s throat. All he knew was he'd nearly killed a friend because of a nightmare.

He was lying on his stomach on the massage table partially covered by a sheet, his head resting on a fluffy white towel. It was a beautiful day, warm but there was a gentle breeze blowing in off the South Pacific Sea through the open sides of the hut. Birds were singing in harmony with the hypnotic sound of the surf and the flute music in the background. The masseuse was pressing into his shoulders kneading the muscles with a firm but soothing touch. He smiled sleepily as he woke.

“Did I fall asleep?” 

“For a little while.”

Coulson started awake his muscles tense, adrenaline coursing through him ready for fight or flight. He lay there for a few seconds waiting for the pounding of his heart to slow down and to get his bearings; Avengers Tower, communal area, the couch, a nightmare… _the_ nightmare. He swung his legs round as he sat up and ran his hand over his face. Fuck! He got to his feet and walked over to the window. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest looking out, so lost in the painful memories of T.A.H.I.T.I. he didn’t hear Tony and Pepper come in.

Pepper headed to the kitchen and Tony over to the senior agent.  He didn’t register the billionaire standing behind him and when Stark placed his hand in between Coulson’s shoulder blades sliding it up to shoulder innocently joking, “Hey Agent, did you fall asleep?” having no clue of its associate for the other man, Coulson instinctively turned and grabbed Stark by the throat slamming him against the window, his other hand closed round Stark’s wrist immobilising it. Stark's eyes bulged as Coulson’s grip tightened effectively cutting off his oxygen supply. His expression was blank and his eyes were unseeing as he began to kill the man standing before him.

Stark struggled against him but it was like trying to move a statue. He flailed at Coulson with his free hand but nothing he did made the agent loosen his grip. He tried to speak but succeeded in only making choking noises. His eyes began to lose focus, tears blurring his sight and running down his face. So this is how his life was going to end; his life lost not in battle, not as Iron Man but unintentionally taken from him by the one man he respected and loved above all others. It _had_ to be unintentional, didn’t it? Maybe he should have called him Phil after all.

Stark was weakening; the blood was roaring in his ears from the build up of pressure, the blackness around the edges of his vision was making everything go dark. Pepper, bless her, was standing at his side hammering at Agent’s…no Phil, right?...Phil’s arm trying to get him to stop. Then that sound. Fuck! His eardrums were going to explode but the trade off was that the pressure had finally gone from his throat and he was able to heave in a giant, painful breath and then another as he dropped to the floor. He lay there fighting the nausea from the low frequency sound wave emitted by J.A.R.V.I.S. that had also thankfully stopped, and the rush of oxygen into his brain. Pepper’s arms were round him in an instant. He looked up at Coulson. The man’s face was a picture of horror at the realisation of what he had done, well nearly done.

Panic stricken Coulson backed away from the couple, from Stark. He had no recollection of Stark and Pepper even coming into the communal area let alone why he had his hand clamped round Stark’s throat in the first place. What the fuck? What the FUCK! He’d nearly killed a friend, and he had no idea he was doing it; he’d been acting on instinct because of a nightmare, because of _the_ nightmare. He couldn’t do this any more. What if he’d succeeded? What if it happened again, to Pepper, to Skye, to Jemma or Leo, to any of them? What if the next time he didn’t stop? No, he couldn’t do this any more.

He felt his back against the window and put his arm behind him searching, searching for what? No, it wasn’t a window. It was the door to the landing deck. It was the way out.  He opened it carefully keeping his eyes on Stark who mercifully was swallowing enormous gulps of air feeding his oxygen deprived lungs and brain. Pepper was with him. He’d be okay.

Pepper felt the slight draught and turned to see Phil slip out of the door. Where the fuck was he going? Oh dear god! No! She felt Tony squeeze her arm and nod towards the door. Wasting no time she let go of him and ran out after Phil. Her heart was racing as she remembered the sight when she popped her head out to ask if he wanted coffee. He had Tony against the window by his throat and her first thought had been, ‘Oh god! What’s he said now?’ until she realised Tony was struggling, desperately trying to stop Phil from…killing him. She shivered at the memory of seeing the blank look in Phil’s eyes as he squeezed the breath from Tony with no apparent awareness of what he was doing. And the worst of it was no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t stop him. She couldn’t stop her dearest friend from killing the infuriating love of her life. How seriously messed up was that?

She’d built up enough speed so that when Pepper tackled Phil the momentum carried them both over onto the deck. He tried to push her away from him but truth be told he had no strength left to fight her. And when she wrapped her arms round him he held on to her shivering. There were no tears, he was beyond tears.

He felt another pair of arms encircle him hesitantly at first, then with more certainty when he didn’t resist; Tony.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh. I know, Phil. I know.”

“I don’t think I can fight it any more.”

Pepper and Tony looked at each other with identical expressions of concern. Neither of them had realised how bad things were with their friend. Sure, he’d been looking tired since he came back into their lives but he always had a ready smile and displayed that dry wit. He always appeared to be in control, listening to problems and coming up with solutions, providing support, being the glue that bound them all together as a team, a family. It didn’t really occur that perhaps sometimes he needed someone to be there for him. They’d failed him. They wouldn’t again.

“You’re not alone, Phil. We’ll get you through this. I promise.”

And the tears fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup I know, in reality (reality?) JARVIS would have acted a lot quicker to the situation but then most slasher movies would be over within the first five minutes if things went the way they were supposed to. Sorry JARVIS.


End file.
